


Empty Chambers and Loaded Promises

by creativemackie



Category: The Deer Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Guns, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide, character study of sorts?, huge tw for death, michael recalls his relationship with nicky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25480804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativemackie/pseuds/creativemackie
Summary: “Yeah? And who’s an asshole?”“Who’s an asshole? Who d’ya think’s an asshole?”Michael’s response had drawn a giggle from Nicky’s lips, and Mike wishes he had wrapped his arms around Nicky then and there and never let him go. He wishes he had directed a thousand more insults at their friends just to hear Nicky’s laugh again. He wishes he could go back and live in that moment for the rest of his life.He wishes they never went to Vietnam.
Relationships: Nikanor "Nick" Chevotarevich/Michael "Mike" Vronsky
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Empty Chambers and Loaded Promises

**Author's Note:**

> dedicating this one to jo ;)

Michael remembers everything about Nicky.   
He remembers the way Nicky laughed and danced, and the way his smile would light up any room. 

He remembers the softness in his voice and the gentleness of his touch, but most of all, he remembers the bite of his words. Nicky was a gentle giant, taller than the rest of their friends, but soft and doe eyed. He compensated by being the snarkiest asshole Mike had ever met. 

Except he wasn’t an asshole at all, was he? Nicky may have had a certain edge to him that no one else did, it’s what helped him hold his ground, but he was the kindest person Michael knew. He had been there for everyone, from giving Linda access to their home while they were serving, to standing up for Stan when Michael was being too stern. 

Mike recalls standing in the living room of their home on the afternoon of Stevie’s wedding. Nicky sat in front of the window, illuminated by the early afternoon sun pouring into the room. 

The sun has nothing on Nicky, Mike remembers thinking. Nicky could outshine anything. 

“I don’t go hunting with no assholes,” Mike had said to him. 

“Yeah? And who’s an asshole?”

“Who’s an asshole? Who d’ya think’s an asshole?” 

Michael’s response had drawn a giggle from Nicky’s lips, and Mike wishes he had wrapped his arms around Nicky then and there and never let him go. He wishes he had directed a thousand more insults at their friends just to hear Nicky’s laugh again. He wishes he could go back and live in that moment for the rest of his life. 

He wishes they never went to Vietnam. 

Nick loved his friends. Nick loved his hometown, his friends, but most of all, he loved Michael. To the outside, it seemed like nothing more than a close friendship. To the two men, it was everything. 

Mike remembers the night of the wedding. He was drunk, but the words he and Nick had shared with one another were unforgettable. No amount of alcohol could drown the promise from his mind. 

“Mike, you gotta-you gotta promise me,” Nicky had said as he sat with his back to Michael’s. “You gotta promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t leave me over there.” 

Michael could never forget those words, because in that moment, he felt completely sober. That night, he made a promise to Nicky that he never let go of. 

Michael remembers when Nicky had wished for them to be sent where “the fighting was the worst and the bullets were flying.” Nicky probably didn’t realize he was going to get exactly what he wished for and more. 

Who could have known? Not Michael, that’s for damn sure. 

He remembers when they were captured and huddled together beneath their enemies as they tortured the other prisoners. He remembers the way Stevie had trembled in his arms as he realized what was happening above them, the cruel click of the revolver echoing in their ears every few seconds. The worst was when the gun finally fired, and Mike held onto Stevie as he struggled to catch his breath. 

He remembers when he had to play against Nicky. He had encouraged him, begged him to put an empty chamber in the revolver, but as he placed the gun against the side of his head Mike felt as if he might vomit. He couldn’t bear to see Nicky die in front of him, and he silently prayed that it would be him, instead. Watching Nicky struggle against the abuse of their captors was just as sickening, his newly tanned skin failing to hide the beginnings of a bruise on his cheek from a particularly hard hit. 

When the click of the gun finally sounded out, Mike felt euphoric. Nicky was still there, sitting in front of him, as beautiful as ever. He felt as if he was seeing him with new eyes, as relieved tears spilled from Nick’s. 

Their happiness was short lived as they realized what was going to happen next. Mike’s plan was either going to work or fail completely, and if it was the latter, they were both going to die. They had shared a look from across the table, and Michael could have cried upon seeing the fear in his lover’s eyes. 

Be strong, he had said to himself. Be strong for Nicky. 

Strength, he thought, was not what got him out of the war. It was simply the will to live. It was the will to stay alive so that he could find Nick again. He never forgot his promise, and that promise pushed him to keep fighting. 

He remembers looking up at the helicopter as it drifted away from he and Stevie, the faint sound of Nicky calling out to him. 

He didn’t know that was the last time he would ever be recognized by Nick. 

He remembers when he finally found Stevie. He came to his hospital room, and watched in awe as his friend wheeled himself over to greet him. He remembers the pleasantries they shared before Stevie’s demeanor had changed. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and his tone went quieter. 

“I got something to show you,” he had said to him as he motioned back towards his nightstand. Mike followed him over, and stared down at a drawer full of dozens of hundred dollar bills.

“This comes every month from Saigon, I don’t understand it.”

Saigon. 

The dam was broken in his mind and a thousand thoughts flooded in. Despite this, he could only manage to pass one word between his lips. 

“Nicky.” 

It was Nicky sending the money to Stevie, and by the looks of it, the money wasn’t stopping. Nicky was alive, and Michael knew exactly what to do. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he found in Saigon. 

He remembers following the path to Nick. He passed prostitutes, displaced citizens, and destroyed buildings. The city was falling, there was no doubt about it. 

He remembers the feeling of uneasiness that grew in the pit of his stomach as he drew nearer to Nicky. He knew where he was, the money had been a dead giveaway as to what activities Nicky had taken up while being AWOL. The mere thought of it made Michael sick. 

When he finally reached Nick, when he finally saw him again, he nearly broke. In front of him stood a tall man, much thinner than when he had left him, but there was nothing behind his eyes. Mike could see the trauma, pain, and sadness that riddled Nick’s body just by looking at his eyes. Sunken in, red rimmed and surrounded by dark circles, Nicky’s eyes made him reminiscent of a dead man walking. The sight alone was enough to make Michael feel as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest. 

If only he knew what was to come. 

The begging and pleading with Nicky may have been the hardest part for him, he thinks. He begged Nicky to recognize him, to say his name and remember it all, but nothing was clicking in the other’s mind. He watched his eyes, praying to see the recognition that would never come. 

That is, until they were once again sat across from one another, a loaded revolver separating them. This time, though, Nicky was the one who felt nothing. He remembers wondering what finally broke Nick, what had made the once gentle soul fall so hard. 

With white knuckles, Nicky brought the gun to his head, pressing it against the red bandana tied neatly around his forehead. Michael recalls the way his heart felt as if it might beat out of his chest as he watched. Deadpan and unflinching, Nicky had pulled the trigger and was met with a familiar empty click. 

The same sense of euphoria Michael had once felt in this situation had flooded his senses once more, but for a much shorter period of time. He needed to talk to Nick. 

“We don’t have much time,” he had managed to say before the gun was thrusted into his hands. 

“Is this what you want?” he had asked Nicky, slowly bringing the revolver to his temple. He was met with silence, the same cold stare he had been on the receiving end of since he had arrived. He sighed, pressing the cold barrel to his sweating scalp. 

“I love you, Nick.” 

Click. Empty. 

This was their last chance, Michael’s final chance to bring Nicky back to Clairton. He thought back to what he felt in that moment, remembering the disappointment that came with the empty clicking sound. 

He remembers the change in Nicky’s expression as he stared across the table. His mouth had been moving, lost words dancing on the tip of his tongue, and Michael knew what he had to do. 

“Come on, Nicky. Just come home. Home! Remember? Talk to me, Nicky.” 

Words poured from Michael’s lips as he reached out to Nick, pleading with his words and his eyes for the other man to take his hand. Michael noticed the track marks leading all the way up Nick’s forearm to the crease of his elbow and he felt bile rising in his throat. 

How could he have let this happen to his Nick? The same Nick he had promised to bring home was staring back at him, empty and overcome with addiction. Michael thought he might pass out. 

“One shot.” 

Those were the only words he had heard from Nicky in so long, and he laughed. He smiled, grinned, laughed, because finally Nicky was beginning to remember.

Michael couldn’t stop him. He couldn’t stop Nicky as he tore Mike’s hand away from his wrist, forced the revolver against his temple and pulled the trigger with no remorse. His mouth fell open as he began collapsing, and Michael couldn’t hear himself screaming over the ringing in his ears. 

“Nicky! Nick!” 

Michael remembers clamoring to the ground with Nicky, holding his head in his hands as he tried to stop the bleeding. He cried over the body of his lover, watching what little life he had left fade from his eyes. 

Michael recalls all of this as he stares at Nicky’s coffin in the back of the hearse. 

Michael remembered everything. 

He only wishes Nicky had remembered, too.


End file.
